Angela's Story
by DarkMark
Summary: The lovely wayward angelbeing created by Neil Gaiman finds a friend in the wake of a war and goes hunting for big, big game on another planet...only to find herself no longer hunter, but prey.


Angela's Story

by DarkMark

Even when you were created 100,000 years ago and in all likeliness will survive, barring mishaps, unto Judgment Day, there's a lot of things you can find surprising. The universe is a big place.

The lady was beautiful, red-haired, half-naked, in metallic breastplates and boots, a tiny bikini bottom concealed by a white sash which hung (as did a great broadsword) from a wide, ornate belt just above her hips, gloves that came up past her elbows but included pointed metal knuckles, and a metal eye-mask that flared into huge eagles' wings by the sides of her head but left her lower face exposed. Add to that spiked metal shoulderplates, a knife in a sheath buckled about her thigh, and colorful ribbons which depended from her outfit, and you had a picture of Angela.

And Angela had been around for a long, long time.

She could travel almost anyplace in the universe, and had seen quite a bit of it. She was far-famed as a hunter. Her reputation was made stalking and killing Hellspawn.

Then there was what could most charitably be described as a work conflict. It was not with Upper Management, but with Middle Management. She found herself jeopardized, thrown into company with one of those same 'Spawn, and, when it was finished, out on her own. Well, all right. She'd been on her own before, and if she had to be without support troops...she'd find a way to cope.

She hunted big game, the kind which could ravage whole planets. She offered her services as a warrior to alien planets at war. Now she was on one of those alien planets, whose name was unpronounceable to men of Earth. That didn't matter. Beings of her sort knew a lot of languages.

The war was over. She'd helped bring it to a close. Now she was being paid, in electronic credits added to her account somewhere in an interplanetary bank and represented by symbols on the face of a hand-held box the quartermaster was preparing for her. It was icing outside, and the natives were dressed in their thickest coats and garments. The warrior woman was still half-nude, and thus a subject of amazement as much as lust.

"Sha, lady, that's an admirable account," beamed the little purple-haired quartermaster. "If you spend it at one time, could break more than a few banks on-planet. But we thank ye kindly."

"Acknowledged, gratefully," said Angela, and, drawing her sword, touched it to her forehead in salute. Then she took the credit box and attached it within her shoulderplate. It adhered to it without visible support.

"Magnetism might distort the workings," warned the little man.   
She looked at him, without smiling, and scabbarded her sword. "It isn't magnetism. Fare ye well."

Grett, at least a head higher than her and a fine figure of a male, stood behind her in line and smiled winningly at her as he put two of his arms on the quartermaster's table. "Angela, be not going so quickly. I've a few credits to spend as well, and no lady yet t'spend 'em upon. 'Tis grateful I'd be for your presence."

"Acknoweldged, Grett-me-lad, but I'm not that sort of being," said Angela. "Only a day or two left, then I'll be shipping out."

"No craft will leave this world for a week, at least," said Grett, wonderingly.

"None of yours, at least," she murmured. "Fare ye well. Thank ye for the war."

She stepped out into the coldness of the day, watching her breath steam and then fall to become ice on the ground below. The city was large and spread out, with no building more than three stories, and many of them showed the damage of the war.

Now children were playing in the rubble, as children always do, and teamsters were hauling supplies and food and whatever else was profitable in large land vehicles, wheeled but propelled by a form of light.

Towards the horizon, Angela saw one of these trucks, barrelling down the road, trying to slacken speed so as to avoid a stumbled child, and knowing that it would not be slowed in time enough to brake, or have space enough to swerve in the too-narrow street without smashing pedestrians in the busy walks.

Angela did not swear. She did set her jaw, made quick calculations, and leaped into the air.

When she came down, she was half again closer to the truck as she had been before, but the child was still between herself and the truck, and perilously far off.

The great broadsword came out, was swung high above her head, and slammed down all in one motion. It cleaved the road before her, and the ground under that.

The fissure spread out from before that, and parted the street, with the urchin safely upon the left side of it (though scared as all hell) and a small ravine forming below it.

Into this ravine the truck fell, and screeched itself to a halt against the dirt walls, its top above ground level. The driver was drop-jawed, but unhurt.

"Great Lord, lady," said a woman, running up and scooping the child (who was not hers) out of the street. "A miracle, that is! You did it how? Of what's that sword composed?"

"Aye, lady-sword," said an aged potentate coming from a meeting. "You must be the Angela the tribunes bespoke. Thank ye kindly for the child's life, and the driver's as well. Reward, there shall be."

Angela replaced her sword once again. "Reward, rather, give to the fatherless and unhusbanded made by this damnable war," she said. "I've no need of more money. Nor of company right now, thank ye kindly. Fare thee well."

And the lady strode away, parting the crowd which gathered at the site and taking no heed of their gabbling questions.

In her off-hours, between the times of hunting and the times of warring, Angela clothed herself in the garments of women such as dwelt on the world she currently occupied, and took herself to the local equivalent of a library. This could range from a site of a massive sun-stone with historic events inscribed in rune-spirals from the center outward, or a place where atmosphere, heated to different temperatures, formed a code for words. Like all her kind, she had a talent for languages.

Today, however, she cared little what the folk of this world thought of her as she strode into the bookroom of a local school in full battle regalia. They were just getting things together again after the war, and there were only a few students and two librarians present. When they all looked up to see the new arrival, there was no need for anyone to invoke a rule against talking.

The woman, Hilth, who administrated the place wore a red vest, blue sheath, and yellow headdress. "Ehrm," she said. "Pardon, milady. Enrolled?" She held her hands behind her back.

Angela shook her head. "Nay, not a native, goodwife. I've a hankering to spend some time in reading 'fore my flight comes. Have you works of history, fancy, and belief?"

Hilth breathed more easily and smiled. "We've all that, milady, and quite a bit more. In the codex or scroll form, or do you prefer the mindstrip?"

If an angel could look tired, Angela did. "He Who Is gave me two eyes which're still in working order, goodwife. Direct-to-mind is fast, but not as pleasurable as a read. I'd know something of your history, your better fictions, and more religion than I picked up from your war-chaplains' prayers."

"You are the warrior-woman, then," beamed Hilth. "'Tis a fine doing you did, Lady Angela, and the doing of it made us who be women proud of our sex. You did, then, break the enemy warship in the Battle of Point 10.6 with your own charge?"

"I'm said to have. But I'm tired of battle and've no will for prattle right now, either. Your books, lady, if you please."

"Most certainly," said the librarian, and came from behind the desk to grasp Angela's gloved left hand and lead her to the proper racks. Now she could say she touched the warrior's good person, and have a tale for her contemporaries at lunch. 

She could tell the hand's strength, and yet it felt reassuringly like a woman's. Angela did not seem to mind.

Before long, Angela was curled up before the hearth in the room (their libraries were built with fireplaces, and people sat on the floor or reclined to read, which meant she had an ornate mat to sit on) and busying herself with the dynasties of a few centuries gone, a romantic fiction of a maid and her swain from a land far below the ice sea, and several scrolls of instructions on the proper worship of their principal Deity. The sword and scabbard were unbuckled and lay beside her, for the time. She seemed to take little note of the people about her, but was slightly gratified by how many young men seemed to drift into the building, decide just then to take a book, and seat themselves in a position most advantageous should they want to peer around their reading matter in her direction.

When anyone would attempt to go in her direction, Hilth would tell them, softly but sternly, "Sha! The warrioress will be leaving soon, and has no time for your bothering. An' you disturb her, I'll eject you into the cold, and you'll be glad it's me and not she doin' it to ye." She only had to throw a couple of them out, and those got no closer to Angela than a few yards before the redhead's visage came up in a brief but daunting stare. They backed down, and were put out.

The lady had run through a good shelf of books by the time the midday meal rolled around. Hilth stared at her guest for a minute, then activated her courage, rummaged in a drawer of her desk, plucked forth a fantasy book she had been working on, and walked to Angela's area.

The angel lady looked at her inquisitively. Hilth held out the book.

"M'neer's Star King's Road," she said, proudly. "In a brand new translation from the Mendavian. It's one I've held back for myself before puttin' it on the shelves, but I'm thinkin' you deserve a chance at it afore outshipping."

"You are most courteous, lady," said Angela, softly, taking the book from her hand. "And?"

Hilth looked perplexed.

A smile twitched at one edge of the warrior's mouth. "I've lived long enough to tell when someone wants something of me, they come bearing gifts. Even if't's only a lent book. Well?"

Hilth wrung her first two left fingers with her right hand. "Erhmmm, Lady Angela, it be time for midmeal, and I've no companion. I beg you excuse the imposition, but I do know the best larder on the university grounds, and would be willing to pay the price of two meals as much as one--"

Angela touched her sword. "Little need I have for food, at least at this point. And I'd much sooner spend what time I have among the pages, even with all your men students playing Watchful Tom on my person while pretending to read."

Hilth sagged a bit, and said, "Just so," and turned to go.

But Angela held up two fingers. "However, courtesy endures, and should be grasped when given properly. I'll go with you, goodwife, but mind! Privacy."

The book-woman split her face with joy. "Should any come near our table, I'll knock 'em properly with my longest walking-staff. That, I promise."

Angela had gone into the ladies' privy-room and came out clothed as women of that world were, in green vest, a purple body-garment, and an ornate blue-and-gold headdress. Hilth did not see how she could do that, and noted that she still bore the sword buckled about her waist, but it mattered not. They had repaired to the best kitchen on campus and sat at a private bench. After a bit of consultation with the owner, the rule about not bearing weapons within had been waived for the warrior.

Now the two of them were in conversation between bites of meat, bread, a tasty local equivalent of cheese, and bowls of sauces. It was costing Hilth two days' pay, but she counted it a bargain. She was reassured to find that Angela's face behind the mask was as beautiful as the rest of her, and the mask concealed no scars. Drawing her out on some subjects, though, was difficult.

"I've knocked about a number of systems in my time," admitted Angela. "More so recently, since I've been at liberty. I'm hoping to get in a few good kills before I find another war to occupy me. Luckily, your world pays well, so I can afford the time off."

Hilth's violet eyes widened. "Kills, Lady Angela? You don't signify by such that you're an assassin, now, do ye?"

Angela snorted a bit with laughter. "No, Hilth. I'm a huntress. Thinking beings, save 'Spawn, I kill not for sport." (Hilth wondered what a 'Spawn was, and thought she might be better off ignorant of them.) "Also, most mortals aren't much of a challenge. Put yourself up against a Sandalphon dragon, a beast which can bite through metal like you bite through yon soggy bread, now there's an interesting situation."

"More interesting than I'd care to learn," said Hilth, who was relieved to learn the firehead was no murderess. "Are these Sandalphons sizeable critters?"

"Stack two of these buildings we sit in atop one another, and it'll still be a head under his full height," said Angela. "Put one-half of such a building against the side of it, and its full wingspan you won't yet reach. Add to that the strength of a demon and a teeny brain even smaller than that of your average bureaucrat, and you've a powerful combination. Not many of these still exist, but I fought one not many cycles ago, and took the thing's head."

A shadow of melancholy seemed to pass over Angela's face then, and was gone. Hilth asked, "Was it a sad thing, then, takin' the beast's life?"

The warrioress snapped back. "Oh, no! After I did it, it was quite gratifying. But what happened directly after was the thing that put a kink in my garters--um, disconcerted me sadly. My own kind turned on me, took me prisoner, and tried me unjustly."

"That for a beast?"

"The beast had nothing to do with it. 'Twas another matter entire. A conflict with an old superior, which had been festering for some time. She saw a window through which she could push false charges against me, denude me of reputation, liberty, and possibly life, and did so. It was by the help of two old friends and one new one, plus a member of the Enemy Camp, that I freed myself and escaped. My accuser was brought low and lost her post. They said that I could return to the Host. But--"

Angela hesitated a long moment. Hilth almost grasped her hand in sympathy, but didn't quite dare. 

The lady tore herself off a bit of bread, dipped it in one of the sauces, and chewed it up before speaking again. "But the Host would not be the same to me. Not after it had hunted me down, brought me to ground, and taken me back to our City a captive. I'd performed excellently in more battles than you could imagine, and that's the faith I got from them. So, rather than serve them or, He Who Is preserve me, the Enemy, I said I'd make my fortune in the regions between. And so I have."

Hilth shifted on her bit-too-ample bottom. A warrior's tale, truly, and one which was not unknown to any region which had suffered wars. But she suspected that there was much more than Angela vouchsafed to her, though she reckoned she'd learned more of her than most who occupied their world.

A slight ping made itself heard, from where Hilth could not tell. Angela said to her, "Excuse me," and, from somewhere unknown, produced a small flat disc. The lady held it before her, and it spoke to her.

"Angela, this is Kuan Yin," said a voice from the disc. "We've heard the war there's been finished up. How'd your part go?"

"Pretty ace," said Angela, nonchalantly. "We flushed the buggers out, chased 'em home, and got a treaty with some decent reparations. Got enough to start a damn good savings account, if I trusted the Galactic Bank, which I don't. What's investments look like, these days?"

The disc said, "Water rights on Lothium look promising, plus a mine on Z'ngar and a publishing house on Earth. I'm gonna throw my money in that last direction myself. When will you be hooking up with us?"

"I'm going to spend a couple more days here and then upboot," Angela said. "Expect me within the week. How's Anahita?"

"She's fine. We're both going to pick up some extra cash at a lava-wrestling tournament here." The disc giggled. "Wish me luck."

"I'll wish you luck and more brains, too," said Angela. "Lava. Grotty to the max. See you, sister."

"You too, Ange." The disc stopped speaking and Angela returned it to wherever she had taken it from. Hilth had never seen a communicator quite like that one. The warrioress explained, "A friend of mine. Just some business."

Hilth tried to change the subject. "I've noticed you went through a lot of our sacred texts today. Is it too curious to ask if you have a faith?"

For a minute, Angela gave her a quite fierce look. Hilth pushed her bench back from the table a foot, in terror. The noise drew the other patrons' attention. For a second, all eyes were on the tall redhead with the sword.

Angela's fist was clenched, and Hilth was sure that it could have crushed one of the metal utensils with which they ate. But then, trembling, it unclenched.

The lady's face calmed, coming down from anger through sadness to resignation.

"Say not that I've had a faith," said Angela. "Say, rather, that I had knowledge. And that hurts me the most."

Hilth was all apologies. "Oh, milady, pardon is I'm beggin', and offense I didn't mean to tender. It's just that I--"

Angela laid her hand on Hilth's wrist. "You've no need for sorry-saying," she told her. "'Twas merely another bad memory of mine. Consider it forgotten."

Hilth breathed a bit easier, though she was still nervous. "I'll be sure and say a prayer for you."

Now Angela looked the saddest Hilth had seen her. 

"I've not said a prayer since the day of my captivity," she said, softly.

Hilth said, "Have you lost faith?"

"No. I'm merely afraid of the answer I might get. So I don't ask."

On the world which had just lost the war with the one on which Angela stood, things were not so rosy. Occupation and reconstruction were in process, and a populance which had lost some of theirnumber, much of their pride, and all of the war struggled with existence once again.

The ruler of that world threw a scroll across the room. It was inscribed with the terms of taxation which would be levied upon him and his house in retaliation for the failed attempt at conquest. A damned little backwater planet, and his forces still hadn't been able to take it. Mainly, he suspected, thanks to that half-naked harlot the reports of whose feats he discounted, except for the fact that she had spearheaded the triumphant drive of the enemy forces. Now, save for that vouchsafed him by the occupiers, he had no power at all.

Such was his frame of mind when his court vizier, his mystical advisor, and a third party came in unbidden to his throne room. Normally he would have had them all shortened by a head, even the stranger, for this affront. But now, he was monarch in title only.

"Your liege," said Raelin, the vizier, "the wizard Wunridge and this--other person--have word for you which is of great import."

The king stared at them in aggravation. "Not unless you can turn back time to two weeks' past, and find me a way to win that battle we lost."

The wizard said, in his oiliest tones, "Not precisely that, my liege. But there is a way that revenge can be made against the sword-bitch who led the charge. I have made contact with this gentlebeing, and, for a price, he will undertake that duty for us."

The king now examined the stranger, clad in a strange black, white, and red uniform which covered his body entirely, completing his ensemble with a flowing red cloak and chains of an unknown metal, connected to his belt buckle and dragging the floor behind him.

For some reason, the king feared the newcomer, and judged that such was good.

"And he can speak?" snapped the monarch.

"You would prefer that he did not, sire," said the wizard. "He is a Hellspawn."

And after a suitable pause, the wizard outlined his plan.

The world Angela was intent on spending two more days upon was a mixture of medaevality and futurism, with her innroom sporting a computer and a connection to their version of an Internet. The rogue angel took her time paging through the equivalent of news heads on the hourly postup. Most of it was the routine stuff she'd seen uncounted times before on uncounted solar systems. Though politics affects all, most are not concerned with it when it is not perceived as affecting them. 

When something crosses one's interest lines, that's when the subconscious, even in an angelbeing, perks up, grabs the conscious by the short hairs, and steers it in the right direction. Or, at least, what is perceived as the right direction.

Angela, stripped down to her bikini and a robe, her armor arrayed beside a chair, her sword propped against the wall within reach, saw a video playback of an incident recorded on the world which she had helped defeat. 

An Amphibrobdinagian, half the size of a blue whale and all predator, was seen invading coastal waters and tearing a commercial fishing vessel to pieces with the loss of most of the crew. The video had been captured by a film crew dispatched by the king himself, who reportedly wanted a first-hand view of the maritime industry in that area.

Big game.

The biggest game she'd seen in this system thus far.

Her breath coming faster, Angela began to play the keyboard of the computer like a concert grand.

The next day, Hilth had Star King's Road thrust back over the desk at her.

"But you haven't finished it," she said.

"Apparently I'm not going to get to," said Angela, clad in a coat and boots this time. "There's hunting to be done on yonder world. Thank you kindly for the loan."

"Hunting of what?" asked Hilth. "Great Lord, Angela, not even you could count yourself safe over there! What talk you of?"

"I'm safe enough where I go, provided I'm not too obvious and spend no more time over there than is necessary. As for what I stalk, you possibly saw it in the news reports yesternight. If they've killed it yet, which I doubt, I'll shake the dust of this world and that off my boots shortly. If not, I mean to make blubber and vases out of it in quick time."

Hilth weighed her options. She had a bit of time coming to her. She also had a humdrum life which, save for the terror of the war, had been steady and repetitious, and no husband nor children thus far waiting behind her doors.

"Angela," she said, "take me with you."

It was the first time the librarian had seen surprise in the warrioress's eyes.

"Nay, don't be downspeaking me," Hilth continued in a rush. "I've a bit of offtime due me, and if it put me in bad with the overseer, it's a risk I'll take. Add to that, I know somewhat of the custom of the world to which you'll be going. True, it's occupied by our forces, but it's like a tied-down beast. Even you could stand a friend over therewards. The trip I can afford, and ye'd have a companion with whom to trade conversation. O Angela, you've been a friend to me, though short's the time we've met. Let me be a friend to you, as well. Could ye not use one?"

Angela shook her head. "It's not by way of starship I go, woman. I've rarely taken passengers by my way of transport. Furthermore, a real hunt is not as safe as a book. When the Amphy is pressing ye hard, one cannot slam covers closed on him and put him on the shelf for the night."

"This one adventure I'd be cravin', Angela," begged Hilth. "No more, no less. It may seem moonstruck to ye, but I'd be havin' material enough on that to live for a lifetime."

"And a brief one that might be, in truth," said Angela. "No, Hilth, stick to your cataloguing. I'll have no more mortalblood on my hands than is perfectly necessary."

Hilth said, "But I could be your friend."

Angela lay a hand on her upper arm. "And so you are. Let's hear no more of it. Goodbye, Hilth."

As she walked out, Angela heard, "And there'll be none to write of your deed, save yourself."

She walked out the door.

Hilth stood there for a moment, then turned and went back to her book-shuffling.

Inside a minute, she heard her name being called.

"You'll promise to keep out of harm's way?"

"That I do," she said, whipping around to face her.

"You'll promise to do what I tell you, no more, no less, by the honor of your king?"

"By king's honor, yes," said Hilth, wondering if her heart was still pumping.

Angela hesitated. "I've never yet been a fool for love. But for friendship, I could kick myself to Elysium and back o'er my stupidity. Make your arrangements, Hilth, and meet me outside, and if any follow you I'll tenderize your backside with the flat of my sword. And don't think I won't."  
Hilth ran to contact her overseer.

Twenty minutes later, Hilth rushed outside to find Angela, sitting on a bench beneath a tree and surrounded by a small crowd of admirers. The warrior was answering questions as politely as she could, but it was obvious her temper was being reined in on an ever-shorter tether. When one youth finally screwed up his courage to ask her, "L-lady Angela, have you, ever considered, going out with--"

She was reaching for her sword reflexively as Hilth shouted, "Angela! Angela, I have taken leave. The Overseer gave allowance, and three weeks may I spend as I choose."

Angela sighed and stood up, the crowd drawing back a bit. "Well, then, Hilth, if ye've no further delayments, we'll take our leave. Have you what you'll require?"

"I do," she said, holding up the bag in which she'd stashed cosmetics, credit box, identity chip and two changes of clothes.

"Then, you'll excuse us, goodmen, but we've a transport to catch." Angela stepped forward, and the crowd gave way before her.

One man thrust a piece of scrip at her. "Milady, just sign this, and they'll know I've seen you."

She ripped the scrip from his hand, drew her blade, punctured it, and tossed it back to him. "Now they'll know. Get the hell away from me."

It wasn't in the precise grammar of that world, but he got the gist.

Hilth and Angela took themselves to the nearest lightcab stand and were gone.

Once the cabbie had taken them to a stretch of road outside the city, they paid him for the fare and watched him leave, taking no action till he was over the horizon. There were no other persons visible at this moment, which was Angela's wish.

"What transport shall we meet here, Lady?" asked Hilth, a bit nervously, clutching her bag in both hands.

"Do you stand near me, Hilth, and I'll show you presently." Angela unscabbarded her sword, held it above her head, and seemed lost in thought for a second. 

There was a flash of magenta light. When it was past, and Hilth could see again, her new friend was in her warrior gear, half-nude and masked once again, her multicolored ribbons swirling about her. They were not merely blowing in the breeze, either. The strips of color acted as though alive. 

Hilth shivered again, and wondered about her rashness.

Smiling with a touch of malice, Angela reached out, grabbed Hilth about the arm, and drew her closer. "This journey won't be instantaneous. I certainly hope you aren't easily bored."

With her sword-arm, Angela described a circle about the both of them. A round curtain of magenta descended quickly from a point just above their heads, dropped to below their feet, and soon entirely encircled them.

They were moving, Hilth guessed. Not that she could feel much motion, but she could feel her weight subtly increase, to the point where she almost fell to her knees. Angela held her up by one arm. "It's not always easy on first-timers, dear. But you're good. You're not whoopsing your cookies all over my feet."

She looked up. "Milady? Not...so familiar with your way of speaking I am."

"I mean, 'A seasoned traveler be you, dear Hilth. Your bowels seem well able to withstand the strain of my transport. More than one has been forced to spit up over my boots, in such an occurrence.'"

Wanly, Hilth smiled. Maybe she did have the stuff to be a companion to heroes.

"Once past a certain point, your weight shall lessen," said Angela. "Though we travel properly between planes, some things still have effect 'pon us. There'll be some hours before we arrive, though."

"I have...brought somewhat, Angela," said Hilth. She rummaged in her bag and came up with a book. Star King's Road.

Angela rolled her eyes upward, knowing what was to come. "All right. You may read to me, if you wish."

Hilth got through about half of the book before they entered the space of the conquered world.

Angela and Hilth got through the equivalent of customs with some handshakes from the offworld occupation soldiers, and some nasty glances from native workers. On this world, she was hardly a heroine.

Several explanations later, they received permission to travel to the village which had been hit by the Amphy. Angela was dressed in the garb of the people of that planet, and Hilth had bought and wore an outfit from a local store that made her a bit less obvious a foreigner, at first glance. But Angela still carried her sword, and the whispers followed them wherever they went.

"We seek the Amphibrobdinagian," said Angela, still in the dress of that planet, but clearly displaying the sword at her waist. Hilth, in an off-white robe with brown designs, waited with clasped hands by her side.

The mayor of that city said, "Goodmadam, the government--ah--both occupational and, er, regular--has promised to look into the problem with all due haste."

"Which will not be enough to prevent further deaths," snapped Angela. "Goodmilord, you will provide me with--"

Hilth pushed her way in front of Angela, unexpectedly. "Your pardon, goodmilord. The lady whom I--that is, whom I travel with, is an outworlder, and is more ignorant of protocol than ourselves. Still, you may believe this, she does have a way of dealing with the beast, an' we be allowed to confront it. Er, she will do the confronting."

The mayor, a lanky man with a mustache, sighed. "You obviously think this is the first time I've seen this good guard-bad guard routine."

Angela opened her mouth and Hilth got in front of it. "Milord, you spoke of governments promising to do something about the great beast. Yet, prohibition none they have made of others taking this matter into their own hands, have they?"

"Well, true, goodmadam," said the mayor. "But--"

Hilth gestured quickly with her arms, like a campaigning politician. "Then, milord, just the remedy are we for your present condition! An attempt my associate will make at dispatching the beast. If successful we are, the beast is gone, and no expenses from the public treasury of this world nor occupation forces is made. Such a feat would not, I trow, look bad on the record of the master of this town."

He considered it, hand to chin. "But. Goodmilady, you expect to destroy an Amphy with that?" He was pointing to Angela's sword.

She drew it from its scabbard and whickered it through the air, sending off magenta sparks. "It's more than it seems, goodmilord. Much more. As is my strength."

The mayor rubbed his hands together reflectively. "I give no official permission in this matter. But I make no prohibition, either. Your safety, ladies, is in your own hands. I pray that, if and when you see the beast, you'll grow some common sense and leave it to the king's submarine detail. Have you experience with such a beast?"

"Many beasts, but not this one," said Angela. "That's why I've come. Thank you, goodmilord mayor. Come along, Hilth."

The two women left and the mayor activated a communicator screen. To the image of the king, he said, "They've come," and waited for instructions.

Angela and Hilth stood atop a cliff that overlooked the sea. There were but a few stragglers around, some fisherfolk and townspeople, and more than a few fishing vessels had decided not to put out today. The warrioress was not yet in her fighting garb.

"This task might not be so difficult as it will be, had I my lance," confided Angela. She was looking at the cold waves planing against the cliffside below. It was a good forty-foot drop, and, Angela knew, a lot of distance outward before one got past the dangerous rocks at its base.

Hilth shivered in her green coat, not stepping too close to the edge. "Angela, your lance?" she said, not knowing if Angela would appreciate her estimation of the sanity of this thing she was about to do.

The redhead nodded in response. "Aye, Hilth. 'Twas a weapon of power entire, and one I did employ 'gainst many a 'Spawn. But it was unmade in a battle with such a creature, and never do I think I'll see it again." She smiled grimly. "On t'other hand, 'twill make it much more sporting for the fish."

Hilth moved closer to the warrioress. "Will you climb now down yon cliff and wade into the breakers?" She had never seen such a feat before, but she estimated that the tall woman would be capable of that and more.

Angela whipped her head around. "Hilth, back you go to our room. I've no doubt I can track this beast. But the timing of its attack, just after our victory--it could be nature, and it could be more."

"More?" asked Hilth. "Certainly they know not how to control an Amphy in these regions, do they?"

She looked seriously at the librarian. "Never you mind that. I've contacted the commander of the local garrison, the men of your world, and he's agreed to put a couple of his men outside your door. Certainly there are others here who know who I am. I am no coward--but you're no warrior. And one thing more, Hilth."

The woman waited.

"Pray for me," said Angela.

With that, Angela gathered herself, crouched, and made a leap.

Her slim, purple-robed form arced out, gaining altitude somehow--Hilth could scarcely believe the power the woman's legs must possess--and carrying her beyond the shelf of rock at the bottom of the cliff. How many hundreds of feet that was, Hilth had no estimation. Moreover, she had made that leap with a great sword buckled to her side.

But the most remarkable thing about the leap was the way the purple light enveloped Angela for a blink, and, afterward, left her in her fighting garb and mask. That, indeed, was a remarkable thing. As was the fact that Angela was not discomfited by the chill of the water below, when she cleaved it, nor did she have to emerge for air. She was in the water, and she was gone.

Hilth shook her head. "Aye, I'll pray for ye," she muttered. "But from the looks o' that, I might be better employed prayin' for the fish."

She watched a few more minutes, trying to catch sight of the warrioress, and then turned away, walking back towards town, preoccupied by her thoughts.

Undoubtedly, that was why the two king's men in plainclothes were able to take her, separate her from the firearm Angela had bought her, and whisk her quickly away.

She was never quite at home in the sea.

The ribbons round about her, trailing like algae, supplied her with what she needed to breathe, allowed her to adjust to the temperature difference, and, in general, sustained her. Even in her metallic garb, Angela was a good swimmer, covering distance underwater as quick as a moderately fast boat.

But air, space, and land were more to her liking. She never got used to the various fish, eel, and more exotic life-forms that made stupid traffic for her underwater. The sound down here was distorted, the light was dimmer, and it just really was not the kind of place she preferred to be.

Nonetheless, that was where she had to be to trap her quarry. So she told herself to get over it, and tried to.

An apparatus consisting of two headphones and a broadcasting antenna on her forehead had been brought from an equipper on the world she had just left. It would, she was certain, point out to her the correct direction to proceed. She turned her head this way and that, and listened to a sonic pulse in her ears. Several degrees to the left, the sound was strongest. She went that way.

A length of reinforced rope was tied between her belt and the hilt of her sword. Might make it a little tougher to handle, but she didn't think it'd be that hard.

A few times, she looked up and saw the bottoms of boats passing overhead. They were thinning out, which was a good enough sign.

So Angela swam, a good many fathoms below the surface, and felt her hunter's instincts kicking up. No, my pretty, she thought, you'll be too big a beastie to hide very easily.

And in the distance, she saw it.

She was reasonably assured it saw her, too.

Hilth had considered calling for help for a fraction of a second. The weapon that was pressed to her side dissuaded her from that decision. There were not that many people around the cliff at that hour as it was. Several of them looked quizzically at her and the two men as they marched off to a waiting lightcar. She looked at a couple of them with an expression which she hoped would indicate her peril. But one of the men jabbed her with the gun muzzle in her side and said, "Eyes front." And shortly after that, they were all in the car.

On the way to their destination, Hilth's prayers were for herself. 

She did manage to ask the two men, "Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?"

"Shut up," explained the one who was driving. 

She did keep quiet. But she was very, very afraid. At that point, she began to understand the major difference between adventure in an entertainment, and adventure which was experienced.

The journey didn't take all that long. She was taken to a dwelling which served as a safe house and which, unknown to most, was equipped with a holding cell in the basement. The interior was comfortably homey, in the front room. Some of the other rooms contained sophisticated communications devices and defensive weaponry.

Several persons were in the front room, including one with dark clothing, white hair, and a muttonchop mustache. This last person had two circular metal boxes by the side of his chair, about the size of hatboxes.

"Goodmilord, what means this?" Hilth burst out, after the door was shut and locked behind them.   
"I may be an outworlder, but no threat I present to anyone."

"Agreed," said the white-haired man. "But you're not here as a knight, woman. You're merely a pawn, and we've captured you. Just in case your queen isn't taken by our knight."

"I, I know not of which you speak," she said. "Milady's a huntress, no more, no less, and 'tis the Amphy she seeks, to save your people from it."

The man folded his arms. "Take her away."

"I have rights," yelled Hilth. "The guards of the occupation'll soon hear of this!"

For answer, the white-haired man stooped, picked up one of the metal boxes, and popped it open.

He grasped a severed head within by the hair and held it far enough above the rim of the box for Hilth to see it from hairline to brow to upturned eyes to nose to hanging-open mouth.

"Our associate took care of these two, who were your guards," said the man. "And now, he should be taking care of Angela."

The damn thing was acres across. It looked like a land mass in motion. If a land mass had two eyes, one on either side of its head, and a mouth the size of a canyon.

The Amphy had fins and a tail, but also usable limbs near the bottom of its great bulk, which were strong enough to slide it along the ocean floor or land, when it made such. It didn't travel very far on land, because its own great weight would crush it if it stayed there too long. But it did very fine, thank you, in the sea.

Angela tried to flit to the side, and did so, with the great beast passing by her like a charging bull the size of an ocean liner. The eye would be coming up soon. Blind that, and she had half a chance of success.

Her ribbons waving, the warrioress let the beast's great gray hide pass her like a moving wall. There it was, several yards up and to the left, coming up quickly. She propelled herself upward quickly with strong strokes, halted in time, drew her sword, held it in both hands, drew back for the stroke.

Just another few feet...

She felt something about her ankle.

Angela looked down, in shock. It was a chain.

A chain which moved and writhed, as if alive.

She swung her sword down at it, but too late. The chain retracted itself and her back within the Amphy through its mouth, which was still open. The stink of the beast and its swirling food-particles were intolerable. Angela went into survival mode, slashed down at the chain, but it was already gone from about her ankle. The Amphy was closing its mouth. She was not able to swim towards the opening before it was closed.

It was dark. It was enclosed.

As several luminous globes were activated by another party, she knew what had happened, and knew the desperation of her plight. The globes were to allow the other enough sight to do what he wished. She saw the cavernous interior of the beast, felt the slickness and rasp of its tongue, upon which she stood, saw the darkened throat beyond them.

But mostly, she saw the great Hellspawn advancing towards her, forming part of his chain into a great battle-blade which he held in his massive fist. He was no newcomer to the Enemy Camp, like the one she'd faced on Earth. This being had three strips of ribbon hanging from his belt, a token of the number of Elysia he'd destroyed.

Now he was after a fourth. And this fourth had no lance, with which she had managed to take down Hellspawn before.

But she did have a sword. And, raising it, she voiced an ancient war-chant and surged forward.

On the slick and pulsating tongue of the monster, the battle began.

Malebolgia looked on the setting, briefly, with only slight interest. He had a big operation to run. True, it'd be nice if his boy killed the angel-bitch. He'd give the kid a medal, hold him a banquet and serve him a big head and arm, and maybe make a speech. He'd get some Watergate guy to write him one. They always did the best work, in his opinion.

The thing was, Angela wasn't exactly in direct service to the Other Guys. She was just kind of, well, a loose cannon. Not exactly Oliver North, just kinda mercenary. Hell knew, he'd tried to hire her, and saved near lost one of his men. See if he ever did anything nice for her again, if she lived through this.

He'd even hoped once that she'd be good enough to take out Simmons, that pain-in-the-pointed-tail. No such luck. And they'd even ended up working together. Oh, that made for a lot of laughs at the sulphur dispenser that week. He'd nuked a couple of guys who were stupid enough not to keep a straight face in his presence. But when he'd had a detente with Metatron not long after, and she'd brung it up as a kind of we-both-seem-to-have-problems-here thing, with a half-smirk, there wasn't much he could do about it but change the subject.

When he had them write the speech, he'd also make sure they gave him a few one-liners to try on Metatron next time they met. You couldn't take that kind of thing lying down.

On the other hand, if you can't do something about the competition's boss, you could do something about their underlings. Or ex-underlings, as it were.

Malebolgia opened a comm channel. "Yo," he said. "The fight between our boy and Angela--you know the one. We're not really supposed to get involved in these kind of matters. But if he needs some help and asks for it, and one of you decides to slip him a little juice to make things a little more even--I'm going to be working on my stamp collection for the next couple hours and I don't want to be disturbed. Capish?"

"Understood and acknowledged, greatlord."

"Out," said Malebolgia. He sighed. He really did need to work on his stamp collection.

Maybe by now they'd gathered enough faces for him to stamp on.

Angela dodged both the whipping chain and the energy-blast from the 'Spawn's hand, leaping up and folding her legs underneath her as she did. The metal links whickered just below her. It was a devil of a problem building up enough speed underwater, and this damned fish was still on the move.

She smashed her sword hard against the chain. It didn't break. She brought her swordhand up in an upward strike, getting in close enough to slash her opponent's mask and perhaps a bit of the flesh underneath. But it was a sting more than a strike, and brought her close to the other's reach. He slashed out at her with his own weapon, which had more reach than her own. Angela parried, but his chains, still alive, wrapped themselves partially about her free arm. They were also headed for her ankles.

With a grunt of effort, the angelic beauty threw herself onto her back, landing on the Amphy's tongue, which was trying to hump up and dislodge them into its throat. Again she thrust at the  
'Spawn with her blade; again, he parried. And he had an arm free, and with that, he grabbed her about the shoulder, extruded claws from his costume, and dug in.

It hurt like fire.

Angela screamed, in a waterlogged fashion. Her armored shoulderpieces kept the claws from sinking in deeply enough to disable her arm, but the talons did penetrate the metal. She brought her metal boot up in a kick to the 'Spawn's crotch, as she let go of her sword with her free arm and then grabbed her opponent's sword-wrist, channeling all her strength into the hold.

The 'Spawn was powerful, but so was Angela, and within seconds he was feeling the pain of a nearly-broken wrist. Not that it would stop him, but it might induce him to let his blade go. And, unlike hers, it was not roped to his wrist.

The redhead's face was rapt in a terrible grimace of pain and fury, and her eyes showed no pity for the enemy and only a slight trace of fear for herself. A small part of her knew that, if she fell, so fell Hilth. She tried to transform that into further motivation, but she was busy just trying to forget the pain in her shoulder, which was a full-time job at present.

With a clash of chain, the 'Spawn threw her off.

Angela fell against the inside of the Amphy, her wounded shoulder trailing blood. If the beast swallowed any gore-drawn predator fish whole, things could get even more interesting in a short while. She damned her weakness, pulled her sword back into her hand, and began to circle the enemy again.

Really, really brilliant, she told herself. You thought there might be a slight chance of a trap, but you didn't think enough about it, because all you were thinking about was the great big fish you were going to slaughter. You just hoped that everything would be all right, and that you could handle things and Hilth would be safe if you just gave her a gun.

Still circling, she laughed, mentally. Hilth had probably never fired anything worse than a bug repellent in her life. Yet, there was hope. After all, a trap for herself was not necessarily an implication that something bad would happen to her newfound travelling companion.

Yeah, right.

The 'Spawn was charging.

She charged as well, both of them swinging their blades, both of them passing by each other.

Both were slashed.

Angela grated her teeth. She'd sustained a big gash across her back, and the feel of the wound led her to believe that the 'Spawn had something more than just metal polish on his blade.

Facing her again, it emitted a strange sound. She realized that it was a laugh.

It was coming for her again.

Hilth sat miserably in the basement. It wasn't uncomfortable, as such things went. There was a sofabed and a holovid machine in the wall. But the walls were metal, as was the door, and the only window was in the door and it was barred.

After the gun was taken away, they hadn't bothered to search her anymore or strip her. She wasn't anybody's version of a threat, apparently.

The guard, an impertinent type just past his pimply years, was trying to draw her out in conversation. "You ever seen a Hellspawn, goodmilady?"

She said nothing.

"Well, neither did I, till just today. I mean, that thing is two-ply ugly and three-ply mean, but I'd put one of those up against a whole squad of your half-naked angelbabes, with half of his chains secured behind his back. If we had one of those in our army, the whole thing would've gone a lot differently, let me tell you. But the wizard, he says, does he, that the signs wasn't right for us to bring one before recent-like. I don't know what he means by that. If the signs wasn't right, why couldn't he'a just put up new ones, like? 'N' torn the others down. Guess wizards are just peculiar like that."

He wasn't looking at her, quite, as she began to undo a catch at her collar.

"Anyway, the big guy was the one what controlled the fish. Guess they thought, what's a boat or two matter, when you can catch a bitch-angel with it? Now he's inside the big throok, just sittin' in there, playin' cards or somethin', waitin' for her to a-come closer. Then he's gonna snatch her with those chains o' his, and grab her right inside the fishy's mouth, and rip 'er all apart from up near that great pair to down near 'er business parts, and do wotever 'e wishes, 'n' then bring the remainder back, an'...hey! Hey! Whatt're you think you're doin'?"

Hilth was just about naked, her dress wadded up around her arms.

The guard wasn't sure what he should do in such a case. If she was trying to seduce him, it was a bum job, as she was a bit riper than what he'd normally go for and a far cry from the dirty hologirls in the discs stashed in his sock drawer.

But if she was crazy, and attempting to do something like strangle herself with her dress, he'd certainly never hear the end of it. Promotion from this big gig, goodbye.

He gave a thought to calling upstairs, decided he could handle one crazy old bag, and unlocked the door, then ran inside and tried to grab her by the arms.

She grabbed him by the collar of his uniform and her other hand came up from the wads of her dress with what she had concealed in it: a sharp dinner knife, pointy end making friends with his jugular.

This'd show Angela. After all, she never felt comfortable with that stupid gun-thing anyway, but she had figured, correctly, that finding it would keep the beggars from looking for anything else.

"Goodmilord, do me the privelage of keeping very, very still, and very, very quiet," said Hilth as she relieved him of his gun. A few seconds later, she took the keys to the cell from the obedient youth.

"Now. You sit right there," she said, holding the gun in one hand and taking her knife from his throat to point with it to the sofabed. Silently, he did so.

"Now look there," she said, pointing to the right-hand wall. He did so.

She brought the gun barrel down on his head with all the force she could muster. He dropped like a log. Just to make sure of things, she gave him a couple more good whacks.

Hilth stepped out of the cell, locked it quietly behind her, and quickly put her clothes back on. Then she sat beside the basement steps and pondered her next move.

She really hoped she hadn't cracked his skull. But if she had, it'd serve him right.

If Angela came back, she'd finally have a story to tell her. Hilth didn't even try to suppress her smile.

The 'Spawn's chains grabbed her again and smashed her against the side of the Amphy. They were holding her far enough away from him that he was out of reach of her blade, but also beyond his swordreach as well. It didn't seem to matter.

Angela struggled to pull herself up, but the monster was getting smarter. The chains were wrapping themselves about her neck. The flow of blood was being blocked to her brain. She gasped, and struggled for consciousness, biting hard into her lip to keep herself awake with pain.

The cloak of the 'Spawn was now coming into play as a weapon. 'Spawn's costume's got as many uses as a Swiss knife, she thought, wildly. From his sides it billowed, shaping itself into several toothy mouths, all of them snapping and all of them ready to have a helping of angelfood.

As the chains choked harder and wrapped about her body more fully, Angela's swordarm faltered. When it fell, the 'Spawn would drag her in closer and let his cloakmouths, and then his own blade, finish it up.

One more ribbon for his belt.

Angela didn't want such an ending. Not just the death, but to be tricked so stupidly into death. Not just her own death, but Hilth's death as well, for she had no doubt that the little mortal was also imperilled if she was. She had great faith in that proposition.

Faith.

A word.

A concept.

Perhaps a chance.

While enough consciousness was left to her, the angelwarrior considered it. True, her prayer-apparatus was a bit rusty, but was still probably there. A twinge of fear, hell, a phobia, played into her mind for a moment. Who knew what kind of wrath she might provoke? Who knew what kind of answer she would get?

Still, at this moment, any kind of answer looked better than none at all.

And, briefly, Angela set her eyes towards what she thought was the "up" direction, and sent up a short mental prayer.

He Who Is, she thought, her swordarm trembling in pain and fatigue. This is Angela. Thy Angela. Asking forgiveness for what wrongs I've done, that I may--request help. Not so much for myself--ah, I'd be lying there, I do want help for myself. But Hilth, too, is endangered. Problems I've had with some of Thy beings...but, hopefully, not with thee. I ask for your aid, and guidance.

She heard nothing, not in mind nor in ears. And the chains still choked, and the jaws still snapped, and they were not a foot away from her sagging body now.

Angela cast her eyes down from the ceiling of the Amphy's insides, and wondered, numbing, where aid was to come, if come it would. If He Who Is would even respond...if she was not in His blind spot...

One of her ribbons trailed past her eyes, still wriggling softly.

It was drifting near the chain. Almost as if it wanted her to notice.

Desperation and inspiration united in her. She could command the ribbons, if she wanted, and she wanted it mightily. Wrap ye about the chain, and hold it taut and fast, she thought.

The multicolored strips of power-material snaked from her body, clasped the chain encircling her throat in two places a handsbreadth apart, and pulled strongly, tautening the 'Spawnchain and straining it as much as they could.

The 'Spawn stopped laughing, and became curious. What was this? Did the bitch's decorations actually intend to factor in this fight? He prepared an energy blast aimed for her head. His fist glowed with the effort, and the cloakjaws still snapped.

Angela gathered her power, raised her swordarm, and, with vision blackening, raised it as high as she could, the chains attempting to restrain her, and brought the blade down on the chain.

It did not break.

The 'Spawn began to laugh his hideous underwater laugh.

She struck two more blows. And with the third, the ribbons heaved mightily, the metal of her good blade impossibly struck sparks which quickly died.

And the links parted.

The 'Spawn's laughter was replaced by a shriek of pain. Involuntarily, its grip slackened. The chain sagged about Angela's throat, arm, and body. Sighing, blood rushing back to her head, she knew she couldn't yet falter, that was business which could be attended to later.

Before the cloakmouths could be retracted, she brought the blade down and struck them all off. They clattered to the Amphy's tongue and dug in, with their dying spasm. It pained the beast and the mouthroom around them began to shake from side to side.

The 'Spawn's cloak, incredibly enough, was bleeding.

With a scream of triumph, ignoring the pain in her body, Angela dove in, blade swinging.

The king's agent was playing a game of cards with the wizard and not liking it much. "You're cheating," he said, shuffling the deck again.

"You're losing," said the wizard. "And I'm a wizard. So naturally I'm cheating, in your opinion. It could never be that you're just a lousy cardplayer."

"I may be a lousy cardplayer, but you're still a cheat," he grumbled. "I want a new deck after this hand."

One of the two plainclothes guards on duty looked up. "You seen Tam?"

"No," said both the agent and the other guard.

"Well, isn't he supposed to be up here by now? It's just about past break."

The two guards looked at each other. The wizard and the king's man picked up on the implications. 

"Wait till after they come back up," said the agent. "Then we'll do the next hand."

"I can wait," said the wizard, confidently, and leaned back in his chair.

The two guards trundled down the basement steps. The agent asked, "How long is this supposed to take?"

"I don't know," said the wizard. "Never really worked with a Hellspawn before."

Then the two heard some yells from downstairs, a shout of pain, and some murmurings, all within the space of a few seconds.

Both jumped up from the table and hurried to the stairs, where they were met by one of the guards, both hands on his head, and Hilth, looking grim, with a gun trained on his back. She had two other guns on her person, and she was looking very grim.

"Both of ye, move aside and stillstand," she warned them. "Damned be I if'n I won't shoot the threesome of ye, if excuse ye give me."

Inwardly, it sickened her. But she weighed her discomfort against what these types had tried to do to her and Angela, and agreed that she wasn't all that sick.

"Can't you do something?" asked the king's man, who was more used to courier service.

"This is your department," snapped the wizard. "I don't do work on this short a notice."

Hilth and the guard were both on the first-level floor by then. "Your other sharpster's belowdeck. I decided one to bring up was easier than two, and one upside the head I gave 'im by which to recall me. Or perhaps two, I've not the memory."

"This has gone on far enough," said the king's man, and reached out for her gun.

He retracted his hand just in time to get a powder burn and miss the bullet.

"The next time, it'll be more important parts than a hand I'll aim for," said Hilth, recalling tough-guy independent guardsmen from a favorite fiction. "Guardsman, you've one set of restraining cuffs. I've the other two. You'll take one from me and do these two, then you'll place the third about your own wrists and I'll shut them. Then a walk I'll take, and you'll be comfy here, provided no itches have ye within the next hour or so."

The guard looked helplessly at the king's man. The king's man shot a look at the wizard.

The king's man nodded.

A few minutes later, Hilth, having smashed the communications equipment with a bullet, left the safe house and was seen by a few posted lookouts. She hailed a lightcab and asked it to take her to the local occupational garrison. Settling back, she hoped she could keep on playing this out as a fiction before she realized what she had really done and would probably faint upon knowing.

She drew a deep breath, closed her eyes, and prayed for Angela.

The cab was long gone by the time the lookouts got into the safe house and started finding out what the dumpy little outworlder broad had done.

Angela smashed away at the 'Spawn, duelling him on the great beast's tongue, on the sides of his mouth, even on the top of it. The creature had plenty of power still, but less by a sight then before she had wounded it.

Furthermore, she was putting it on the defensive, and both of them knew it. She sustained some slashes from it, was bruised by its flailing chain and seared by a blast from its hand, but she kept pushing it forward.

The 'Spawn retreated into the beast's gullet.

With only a slight pause, Angela followed.

Both passed through an esophagal gate. It was darker here, but still possible to see the enemy. The dark being tried to form its cloak into a great nest of spikes and throw it upon her to impale her, but all it succeeded in doing was getting it cloven in two by her blade. She was certain that, somehow, she had heard the cloak scream.

A chain-flail did whack her painfully on the face. She fell back against the Amphy's throat, her feet slipping in slime. The 'Spawn's free hand glowed with power now, and he lunged forward to seek her head for a fatal blast while sending his swordarm up to gut her.

With ribbons enwrapping his chains, a sword which penetrated his body somewhat, and a well-placed boot in his chest, Angela held the 'Spawn, fell onto her back, and sent him into the throat wall. His sword punctured the side of the beast's throat, and his free hand involuntarily shot a power-burst forth that ripped a large hole beside it.

Water and algae and small sealife passed through the hole, and blood passed out of it. It enmurked the grotesque battlefield.

The Amphy rolled over in pain and thrashed, crushing anything on the ocean floor below it, and its roars of pain even made themselves heard in the upper air, to fisherfolk who were glad they had not gone out that day. Inside, Angela and the Spawn were smashed briefly together, thrust themselves away from each other, and struggled for a sight of the foe as the Amphy's blood made such things cloudy and difficult.

Angela thought her ribbons might help her sense the enemy, but estimated that his infernal powers might also allow him to track her. The throat passage they were in rolled over and over, defying them to find a place to stand or keep from being thrown against the walls. Groping, she made her way to the hole in the beast's throat and began chopping away with her sword. When a length of 'Spawnchain came seeking her ankle, she severed it with a single blow, and decided she was getting better at that sort of thing.

When the hole was large enough, and not opening onto ocean floor, Angela calculated her chances and thrust herself through it.

She swam outward and upward, fighting the force-pull of the beast's thrashings in the water. For a moment, she looked downward, seeing the mass of the Amphy rolling and moving this way and that. It was pained, but not destroyed, and she knew what job still remained to her.

'Spawn or no 'Spawn.

Her instincts were good, and she knew what part of the beast to strike, but it was not blinded, it was thrashing like an eel, and she could be made paste by it in an instant. Nonetheless, it might recover from this, it might be a danger yet to the worldlings in this area, and, above all, she had a duty to perform on it.

So Angela hurtled downward at the Amphy, guesstimating as best she could when the top of the massive head would come up, and pointed her sword downward at its midpoint.

She struck, penetrated, sunk it to the hilt, placed her feet on the beast's head, and grimly drug the weapon backwards, towards her.

The Amphy screamed in agony, thrusting its head up, breaking the waves, spraying the sea with blood.

And Angela still hung on, walking backwards with her utmost force, dragging the sword back with her to tear a great rip in its head, and, she hoped, severing its tiny brain along the way.

It reared. She held on, then yanked her weapon free and leaped to the side. It launched itself half out of the water, reared backwards, smashed down upon its head, crushing itself with its weight, and smashed her body up against the rocks near shore with the force of its backwash. She clung to the rock, hurt and panting, as the great beast, now in shallower water, lay with part of its underbelly exposed to the world.

Within two minutes, it thrashed no more.

Angela tasted blood in her own mouth, spit, and tried to get her breathing back to normal. She let go of the rock, waded through the breakers to the small bit of land abutting the cliff. Looking up, she saw townspeople on the crest of the cliff, drawn by the noise and fury.

Then there was another noise. An explosive one.

She looked, and saw a green blast of power blowing out part of the side of the Amphy. Emerging from it were chains, and two hands, and a head, and then the rest of the 'Spawn.

The 'Spawn, expending part of his waning power on levitation, hurtled through the air at her.

In Elysia, two beings of feminine form monitored the battle, with pickups on the energies expended. They did not interfere in it, nor were they required to.

"The Enemy appears to be receiving power transmission from elsewhere," remarked one of them. "That seems an ethical violation, with no corresponding power going to Angela."

The other answered, "The ethics of the Enemy Camp are hard to underestimate. But in this case, against a maverick, they probably feel that they can get away with it."

"Nonetheless, shouldn't we alert the Director to the situation?"

"Oh, I'm sure she already knows about it."

"How sure?" asked the first, confident she had caught her senior at a flaw at last.

The second tented her hands and smiled. "Because she's already gone."

Angela had thrust herself to the side and waded further out so as not to have the cliff to her back as the Spawn landed nearby. It sent up a considerable splash, and swung its sword forward, splanging off her blade and sending her backward and down into the shallow water. His blade swung down at her prone figure. She barely got her own sword back up and crossways, its tip held in one hand and its hilt in another, to ward off the killing blow. She pushed up and sent the 'Spawn onto his back in the surf, but the still-motile chains caught her and pitched her overhead.

The warrioress rolled away from the spot she'd occupied, an energy blast steaming away water there for a moment and gouging out a small crater. She chanced a leap and a kick and struck, knocking her foe down again, but had to leap above the arc of his sword as he swung it horizontally. Backflipping, Angela went down in the sand hands-first and pushed off, regaining her feet in an instant.

The 'Spawn roared in rage and came at her, smashing away at her with his chains, swinging his sword, trying to form what still lived of his cloak into some sort of weapon. The pain of the chain-blows was taking its toll on the heroine, and even her ribbons' power couldn't prevent the bruises and broken skin from showing. For all his wounds, he still had power. He could still win this fight.

That angered her quite a bit. 

With a full-power swing, she brought her blade laterally towards the right arm of the 'Spawn, near the bicep. To the credit of his suit's designer, the chain noticed the blow and wrapped itself about the arm at the striking point. A good move.

As it was, the blow only broke the chain to shrapnel and broke the arm beneath it, but didn't sever it.

The 'Spawn wasn't appreciative of his good fortune, bellowing like Grendel must have bellowed after being disarmed. He brought his left leg up in a stunning kick, caught Angela in the gut, and lifted her clear out of the water. Her half-clad body arced back, sprinkling waterspray along the way, and crashed onto a rockier portion of the beach, still several inches deep in water. The shock numbed Angela. Her sword hung on the end of her rope, tied to her wrist but not in her hand.

The 'Spawn rapidly sloshed up and, using both hands, brought his sword rocketing down.

At that point he found out an incredible thing.

A lattice of angelribbons, when rapidly formed into a sort of cage above a target, can indeed be strong enough to withstand a powerful sword blow.

The 'Spawn, however, reasoned that two such blows would do the trick. The ribbons seemed a bit more lifeless after the impact, and they were beginning to waver. So he positioned his sword again, drew back, and began to swing downward.

At about the time Angela recovered her sword and swung upward.

"Umph!" was the only thing he was able to say. If he'd really been thinking on all cylinders, he might have realized that he still had the power to bring his sword down, and possibly kill her with it.

But then again, his luck hadn't been running all that well that day. Besides, when a sword is transfixing you through the abdomen and out the back, your first thought is usually, "What am I going to do about all this pain?"

Angela, her legs spread wide, grimaced one more time, set her muscles, and ripped the sword upward.

The sword didn't quit going until everything up to and including the 'Spawn's head was in two pieces.

It fell backward and made two splashes.

She looked at it a moment, gasping, as the waves came in and out and covered part of it and then retreated, carrying strange-looking blood, only to do it again, over and over.

With an effort, steadying herself by using the sword as a walking stick, she bent over the 'Spawn and took the four ribbons from its belt, and held them to the edges of her own ribbons. The long-dormant strips melded with her own, and, within an instant, she had a knowledge of the lives and deaths of four of her sisters.

She picked up the 'Spawn's sword, took it in her hands, and, with a great effort, broke it across her knee.

Then she knelt and took from the left half-head of the 'Spawn a disc which it had been wearing there. A disc with both white and black markings and two green markings which were meant to look like eyes.

Not smiling, she hung it alongside another such disc on the right side of her metal mask.

After that, she became aware of two things. First, that the people above her on the cliff were breaking into spontaneous applause and cheering.

Second, that someone was nearby her, saying, "Well done, Angela."

It was Metatron.

Metatron, director of the angels of Elysium. A womanly being of deep black-blue with points of light in her aspect, like a constellation standing human-size before her. Metatron, her old boss.

And Metatron was holding a power lance in her right hand, just like the one Angela had lost when she encountered the 'Spawn called Simmons.

"Milady," said Angela.

And that was about all she could get out before she pitched forward.

Malebolgia expressed his feelings by smashing and crashing and bashing his obsidian desk with one of his adamantine golf-clubs till it lay a pile of splinters and broken crystals.

Why couldn't things go right a better portion of the time? Why was the learning curve for these idiots never curved upward? When was he going to get some material of the caliber of Simmons that would stay with him, for home's sake, instead of going maverick or negotiating like some stupid big-league ballplayer?

He opened a channel. "Wattleflunch, I feel like some dismemberment," he sent. "Get me some volunteers."

He trudged out of his office, his feet burning the carpet below him. Metatron would roast him unmercifully during their next detente.

Sometimes it was just hell running this place.

When Angela awoke, she was in her hotel bed and still very, very sore. She groaned, opened her eyes, and saw Metatron sitting calmly beside her, still holding the power lance.

"Milady," she said, "I feel like hell."

"Not surprising," said the shimmering being, "considering what you've been through. I've ministered to you a little, though, in your sleep. Your serious wounds, at least, are healed."

The impact of it finally hit Angela. "Milady," she said, "you...you're here. Why? This is not Elysium, and I am not a--"

"Hush you, Angela, and do you not be telling me what you are or aren't," said Metatron, imperiously, but not unfriendly. "I know more of what you are than anyone save He Who Is, and certainly more than you. You are still of our breed, are you not?"

Angela, noting that she was in her bikini but that the metallic parts of her costume had been leaned against the wall, drew herself up a bit in bed. "I am," she said. "But I'm a maverick, a renegade. I'm not in the Host anymore, milady."

"Are you now, Angela?" asked Metatron, giving her a stare that she couldn't hope to match. "You think you put yourself beyond us simply by your independence? You may have rejected the Host, but have you rejected its Master?"

She paused before saying, "No. The problems I've had were with the Host alone." Then she said, "Did He Who--"

"Angela, your tongue is the most maverick thing about you. Let me ask the questions, and do me the courtesy of simple answers. Now: hitherto, you've been afraid to pray, to ask intercession. True, or false?"

Angela hated being treated as if she were in the witness box. "True enough. I wasn't sure--"

"But during the battle, you prayed. You prayed, did you not?"

"I did," she allowed, and waited.

"What happened?"

"There weren't any miracles, if that's what you're wanting to hear," said Angela. "I heard no crack of thunder below the waves, saw none of the Host appear to lend me a weapon or help in the battle. Nothing dramatic at all."

"But what did happen, Angela?" Metatron waited patiently for her reply.

The warrioress sighed, and noodged a pillow up so she could sit up more comfortably in bed. "I saw my ribbons waving. I thought of how I might employ them to defeat my foe. Luckily, it worked. Are you saying that the thought--"

Metatron overrode her again. "What I say is what I say, Angela, not what words you would place in my brain. Don't you think that miracles may be small indeed? Are they always the loud, flashy, incredible parting of a sea or the stilling of a world's orbit? Or is it possible that there are an abundance of very small, very quiet miracles?"

She thought about it. "I suppose that such, milady, is eminently possible." After a pause, she said, "A miracle, then, that is so small it might go unnoticed at all."

"A miracle, possibly, as small as a thought," said Metatron. "Or, perhaps, as large as one. One so small or large that even an angel might not perceive it."

Angela shook her head in wonder. "Well, maybe I've noticed it now. With the proper help. Uh, milady...were you...asked to come here?"

Metatron didn't answer. Or, if she did, she did not use words.

Angela sighed and bestirred the bedclothes. "All this time," she said. "All this time I've been worried about what would become of me, if I dared to pray. If I had known this would be the result, I wouldn't've had to build such a big phobia about it. Milady, I'm one dumb angel."

"Sometimes, possibly," acknowledged Metatron. "But a valiant one. Here. This is yours." She held out the lance.

Angela took it, wonderingly.

The familiar thrum of power went through her arm, through her very being. This was the weapon of the trusted angels, of the Hunters. This was what she had lost in her battle against the Earth 'Spawn.

This was what Metatron returned to her. She almost shed a tear.

Yet one thing still had to be said.

"Milady," said Angela, "thank you for this gift. You know my appreciation of it, and of you for giving it and for showing up here. But I've got to tell you--I'm still not coming back. Not to the Host."

Metatron said, "Never's an even longer word than someone of your age would estimate. But there's other ways to serve. You will, then, not oppose the Host?"

"Not as long as it doesn't oppose me," she said. 

"And you will not lend your services to the Enemy Camp?"

"Not on your life," she said. "I don't like their training regimen. And they're too much fun to hunt down."

"Then, Angela, I grant you this: that you are on Detatched Service. There may come a time--nay, there will come times when your hand will be needed, and you may count it as the request not of the Host, but of myself, and perhaps He Who Is greater than myself by far. Perhaps." Metatron said, "Even you, Angela, have not falled below grace. Which, I trow, is what you wanted to know."

Tears fell from Angela's eyes, then, and she came from the bed and attempted to embrace the lady. But Metatron raised her hand, and Angela found herself unable to advance further. "Stay, Angela. There's no need for embracing. What information you've needed, I have imparted. Perhaps it's not all you wanted...but--"

"'You can't always get what you want,'" quoted Angela, wickedly. "'But if you try sometimes, you might find...you get what you need.'"

Metatron put her hands on her hips. "Are you sure you haven't made cause with the Enemy Camp?"

"No, Milady, it's just music," beamed Angela. "Perhaps not the kind we're used to in Elysium...but I haven't been there in awhile. Will you be staying long?"

"I've much business to attend to," said Metatron. "Though this, I allow, was mixed with pleasure. Farewell, Angela...until our next meeting."

And with that, Metatron faded from sight.

Angela looked at the staff in her hand.

There was a knocking at the door. "Angela," said Hilth. "Be ye companyless now? Three of us there are to see you."

"Ah, Hilth," she called, stepping onto the wooden floor and taking herself to the door. "You and who else?"

As she unlocked the door, Hilth spilled in, along with two others. Kuan Yin, the Asian angel, and Anahita, the African one, both in their masks and skimpy costumes, and both grinning. As soon as they were inside, both of them threw their arms wide and chorused:

"To illustrate my last remark,  
Angie in the whale,  
Noah and the ark,  
What did they do just when everything looked so dark?  
You've got to--accentuate the positive,  
Eliminate the negative,  
Latch on to the affirmative,  
Don't mess with Mr. In-Between."

Hilth said, "They just caught up to me and they insisted on singing that song. They told me you'd like it."

Angela threw her arms around Hilth, and then dragged the other two into a group hug.

"They were lying," she said.

In time to come, the collaborators in the affair were brought to trial, some sentenced to prison, some--including the wizard--executed. What happened to the wizard after his execution was not recorded, but could be imagined.

One of those who could imagine it, but who escaped prosecution thanks to his position, was the king. The monarch was well able to imagine the shaman's fate, because of another factor: in order to actuate the Hellspawn's services on his side, he'd had to make an agreement with it.

His end of the agreement would begin after his death, when he would be forced to take up residence in a certain place.

The king had hesitated before agreeing to that. But seeing the warrior-woman dead seemed worth any price. Now, the Hellspawn was dead, and she was still alive. And he still had his end of the bargain to fufill.

Maybe not. Maybe the fact that the bitch hadn't really died would give him a waiver on a technicality. The courts on his world were usually good about things like that.

Somehow, he doubted the courts down below saw it in quite that way.

A few days later, in civilian clothes, Angela, Hilth, Kuan Yin, and Anahita sat cross-legged in a park on Hilth's world. They were passing around a holograph print.

"Which one is the Amphy?" said Kuan Yin.

"The one without the mask on," said Anahita.

"Now, from that angle, the Amphy could very well have a mask on," retorted Kuan Yin. "Just a little one. Anyway, you could have said, 'Angela's the one standing on its belly, the little red-headed dot there."

"I haven't got space for the damn thing's head in my trophy room anymore," said Angela. "I've gotta have some way of proving it's not the one that got away."

Hilth said, "Well, you've harvested another of them round thingies which go about your mask. Seems to me that's the bigger game, despite its size."

Angela said, "Right you be, Hilth. And how'd it feel to be a pistol-packin' adventuress for once?"

"Well, milady, by the time I'd gotten to the garrison office, I was well-nigh stricken with astonishment," Hilth replied with a grin. "They had to give me a couple glasses of water and a shot of stronger stuff before I could tell them where I'd gotten all the guns. It transpired that they'd been seeking the party who'd killed the two guardsmen, and while I couldn't lead 'em rightfully to that, since you were fightin' him, I did lead them to the thing's employers. Since it was endangerin' ye that they did, and you bein' a heroine to all of 'em, they made a short and effective bit of their interrogatin'. Ye know all that.

"But, as to the adventurin'...I don't know." Hilth looked thoughtful. "Great Lord, I'd never handled a gun before, save me dad's, to do a bit of plinkin' when I was young. To have held a knife at someone's throat, and threatened him...for this, I had to be askin', 'Hilth, is this you, now, doin' this? Is it really, really you?'"

The others all waited for her answer.

"And then, I said to myself, 'Well, it must really, really be me. A part of me I didn't even know about, like some book buried for years beneath one of our mustier stacks.' But when I got that book out and read it, you know, it was one of the best books I'd ever read. So yes, it was me. And it's so grateful to ye, Angela, that you showed me all about it. If I'd known angels could be like ye, I'd have had twice the religion that I do now." The librarian's face was aglow with excitement.

"Oh, boy," said Angela, resignedly. "Well, now you can take the book back to the library, Hilth, and I'm sure you'll be wanting to write up the entire affair like you planned. It's well-nigh time for our departure."

Hilth said, "Oh, no, Angela. I resigned my post at the library."

"You did what?" Angela, holding her staff, rose to her feet.

"They said they'll give it back to me if and when I come back," said Hilth, hurriedly. "But I just couldn't leave things as they are. You've shown your need for a friend, for who else would'a taken care of the other brigands whilst you were a-wrestlin' 'Spawn?"

The two other angels were giggling. "You--you little twit--" spluttered Angela. "You can't be my sidekick!"

Hilth looked at her implacably. "Ah, Angela, now that's the very thing you are needin'. Someone with whom to confer over the many miles, someone to take care of business and watch yer back when your guard's down--"

"And I suppose you want to try and fight 'Spawn with me? No way, baby. Uh uh. You get your little backside back into that library and tell them that you want your job back right now. Girls, let's get the hell out of here."

The two others looked at her.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Let's do the purple-light bit and shake booty out of this place."

Kuan Yin said, "Sorry, Angela. I'm going to take care of some solo business. Those water-rights things I told you about? We should investigate them before investing, wouldn't you think?"

Angela swung her gaze over to Anahita.

"Don't look at me, honey," the dark female replied. "I'm gonna be on Earth for a little while, learning the publishing business. All by myself."

The redheaded warrioress looked at one of them, then the other, and then gestured to Hilth. "But you can't expect me to...take her along and endanger her again."

Anahita fluffed the back of Angela's hair. "Angela, you don't have to put her in harm's way. Just make sure she's equipped for what she might come up against. You could use a sidekick for a little while, and I think the little lady's shown some pretty good stuff. Wouldn't you say so, Yinnie?"

Kuan Yin nodded. "I would indeed, Ana. Give her a try, Angela. Just one more mission. If it doesn't work out, it doesn't, but at least for awhile, you won't be lonely without us."

Angela looked at Hilth poisonously. "Did you put them up to this?"

She smiled up at her. "Didn't have to," she replied.

"How do you expect to get any writing done?"

"I've got one of those portable writing and transmitting thingies in my bag," said Hilth, patting her large clothes-sack. "Bought it with the bounty we, that is, you were givin' for the slayin' of yon beastie. I didn't think ye'd mind."

Angela sighed. "The world's gone crazy. Absolutely. Ana, Yinnie, you will meet me after my next assignment? I'll make land on Trantor."

"I think I can manage that," said Anahita.

"Me, too," piped up Kuan Yin. She patted Hilth's cheek. "Take good care of our sis," she said. Hilth chuckled.

"Goodbye, you two," said Anahita. "Take care." A nimbus of magenta light enveloped her, and lifted her into the skies.

"See you both soon," said Kuan Yin, and constructed a similar light about herself, rising into the heavens with the other. Both were soon gone from sight.

When Hilth looked at Angela, the warrioress was back in her armor and bikini. "You're dead set on going through with this?"

"I am," confirmed Hilth.

"One more time," said Angela. "Only one."

And as she constructed the light globe around them, Angela considered the things which had been surprising to her of late. To meet Metatron again. To have a lance in her hand again.

To learn that she was not beyond grace.

And, most surprising of all, that the best miracles may be the quiet ones.

As they rose into the air, Angela said, resignedly, "I suppose you brought something else to read."

"Have I indeed," said Hilth, pulling a book from her bag. "Star Queen's Road. New translation. Chapter 1."

And the book lasted three-quarters of the way on their trip to Trantor.

Inspired by the Faces of Faith challenge.

Once again, this is for Neil, in hopes that he will understand.

And if he doesn't, I'm in trouble. ;-)

DarkMark  
3/2/99


End file.
